


we used to wait

by timequakes



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, FIFA Ballon d'Or 2012, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/timequakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a quiet moment of affirmation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we used to wait

**Author's Note:**

> This is Sarah's fault. Like, it's entirely her fault that I even ship this, but Hope and Abby certainly did all the legwork today in convincing me to write something, so...you're welcome. For all intents and purposes significant others do not exist in this alternate universe, shhh.

Abby feels like there's never going to be another quiet moment.

She's never seen Alex so relieved, like dodging the bullet of the award itself and the interviews that would have come with it is enough on its own to make her night- which Abby understands. She remembers being young and blinded by her own star power. She still is, arguably- blinded, not young. She knows why she won tonight, and she knows it has to do with that. She may not be a genius, but she's smart enough to get it. And she knows, too, that there’s not a person in the audience that doesn’t understand it, and she knows that doesn’t mean she didn’t win fair and square, but there’s a huge and aching part of her that fights to give the trophy away, to find Alex and press it into her hands and make her keep what she’s earned. But Alex wouldn’t take it. She finally finds an alcove, somewhere alone where she can breathe for two seconds, and of course _that’s_ when Hope shows up.

“ _That’s_ overdue,” she says, nodding at the award in Abby’s hand (what is she supposed to do with it? Is she supposed to parade it around? Everyone saw her get it and nobody ever told her the game plan for afterwards). Abby looks down at it, considering it for a moment. “This? This is Alex’s.”

  
Hope takes a few steps closer and Abby puts the award down on the nearest decorative table. To avoid eye contact- because she has the feeling she’s in trouble- she stares at her shoes instead, scratching the back of her neck. “Stop with the humble bullshit,” Hope replies easily, like she’s not surprised at all and knows Abby certainly isn’t going to stop, “you’ve deserved this for years.”

  
“Yeah, but not this year. This is...this is _her_ year.”  
  
She’s still looking at her feet because she isn’t sure she wants to see how Hope’s looking at her. Mostly she’s avoiding it because she knows Hope can see right through her and there’s a part of Abby- a small part, but a loud one- that insists Hope is right. She _deserves_ this award. She _deserves_ the recognition. And really, honestly, she should shut up and take it.

  
She’s had Hope in her head for years, it seems.

  
“She has plenty of years left.”  
“And I don’t.”

  
It’s not a question. Abby looks up and Hope raises her eyebrows, shifting back on her heels a little to account for the amount of ‘nonplussed’ she needs to show. “I didn’t say that,” she replies, but carefully- they both know how fragile and useless this part of the conversation is, anyway, they hear it every time they rewatch a game with commentary- and without much force, “But you have less than her.”

  
“What, did you come in here just to bust my ass for thinking she deserves it, or do you have something significant to say?”

  
Hope laughs, and she’s right to: it’s a joke, and not a very good one. Everything Hope says is significant to Abby. That’s why, in part, they fell apart so completely in 2007- the betrayal was total, because Abby has always hung on every word out of Hope’s mouth. This is no different, and that’s why she’s so defensive about it. Hope is right. She doesn’t rub it in, though, instead she steps a little closer and Abby freezes up worse than when her name was called.

  
“You won over twenty percent of the vote, Abby. Almost twenty-one.”  
“I don’t wanna hear this,” she mumbles, but there’s still that small, repressed part of her that’s proud to hear it, that’s basking in the pride in Hope’s eyes when she says it, and it’s really not a joke anymore how close they’re standing.

  
“Too bad,” Hope says, and Abby knows what’s going to happen before it does- Hope leans up a little and her lips brush over Abby’s jaw. It’s not quite a kiss on the cheek, but it’s nothing else, either, just like they’re not friends but not just teammates- just like the occasional shared nights that they pretend nobody knows about.

  
“Take the trophy.”

  
So she does. Hope is her keeper and it’s her job to listen.

  
But she almost forgets the hunk of metal on the table.


End file.
